When he was shot in Benicia, a couple of years later, the coroner said he was the greatest-shouldered man he had ever seen laid on a slab.
Nelson could not read or write.

He had been "dragged" up by his father on San Francisco Bay, and boats were second nature with him.

His strength was prodigious, and his reputation along the water-front for violence was anything but savoury.

He had Berserker rages and did mad, terrible things.

I made his acquaintance the first cruise of the Razzle Dazzle, and saw him sail the Reindeer in a blow and dredge oysters all around the rest of us as we lay at two anchors, troubled with fear of going ashore.
He was some man, this Nelson; and when, passing by the Last Chance saloon, he spoke to me, I felt very proud.